


Dancer

by yeaka



Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: Voyager
Genre: Established Relationship, F/M, Pole Dancing, Vignette
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-07
Updated: 2020-09-07
Packaged: 2021-03-07 03:09:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 905
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26346136
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: Kathryn watches Harry try.
Relationships: Kathryn Janeway/Harry Kim
Kudos: 17





	Dancer

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don’t own Star Trek or any of its contents, and I’m not making any money off this.

Through the dimmed lights and the synthetic smoke, the club doesn’t look all that different from Sandrine’s. At least there are no lecherous patrons lining the rounded seats, not even a server behind the bar—when Kathryn reaches the couch just before the center stage, she orders, “Whiskey,” and it appears out of nowhere atop the small circular table. She doesn’t even plan to drink it, just feels like _being in character._ Her uniform is suddenly too stuffy. But Harry looks wildly nervous, and that familiar cute expression does wonders to calm her own nerves. 

Kathryn leans back in the burgundy cushions and lets her gaze trail over her entertainment for the evening. Harry fidgets, shifting his weight onto his other foot, hands folded before him and hiding the bulge in his standard-issue Starfleet boxers. They’re the only stitch of clothing on his body. A part of her is disappointed to have missed the strip show, but the rest is pleased to cut right to the chase. She doesn’t have much time to spare. Kathryn Janeway is a busy woman. And Harry Kim is a devoted ensign with the tantalizing body of a holographic pleasure-slave. 

It’s nice to know he’s all _real_. The flush on his face alone is all too human. Raised half a meter above her at the very front of the stage, he twitches and mutters, “I, uh... I tried to practice, but... I think I’m still a little rusty...” He offers an awkward smile. Kathryn returns a kinder one, eyes devoid of judgment. 

She promises him, “I’m sure I’ll like absolutely anything you do, Mr. Kim.” _Harry_. She doesn’t often bring the formality of their ranks into the proverbial bedroom, because she knows she’s crossing a line, and the solitude of the delta quadrant is no excuse. But she also knows it makes him shiver and squirm when she talks to him like she might on the bridge. His eyes light up—he never disappoints. 

He straightens in response and insists, “I’ll do my best, Sir—Ma’am—K... Kathryn.” The blush creeps down his soft jaw line and over his throat. Sometimes, he’s just too pretty for words. She can feel her grin going and nods encouragingly, bidding him to start. Harry sucks in a final breath and mutters, “Computer, music.”

The holodeck instantly obeys. A rhythmic, bawdy instrumental begins—the sort of mindless droning found in a thousand bars across the alpha quadrant, hardly the kind of thing Kathryn would listen to on her own, but fitting for this. She can see it immediately helps—Harry’s shoulders slump, then puff out, chiseled chest arching up, starting to sway; he bobs to the beat in a way that flexes all his taut muscles under the coloured lights. He takes a step-back, bumps into the pole stretched from stage to ceiling, and grins sheepishly. Kathryn’s never been fonder of him. 

He starts slowly, turning to grip the smooth steel bar and just rocking around it, moving in a way that’s already enough for her. Sex clubs were never her scene, but that doesn’t mean she can’t enjoy the view, and she _especially_ enjoys the effort. There’s nothing quite like Harry’s willingness and eagerness to please—the extra few percent he always puts in to impressing her. She can see from the thought in his expression that he has practiced this, and picturing him dancing alone in his quarters, stripped down to almost nothing, is a lovely image. Then he determinedly thrusts his hips against the pole and sinks down to his knees, grinding into it on his way back up, hips still driving back and forth. Her gaze trickles down from his handsome chest to the tent between his legs, growing steadily harder with each movement. He humps it against the pole with a reasonable facsimile of grace. He isn’t quite a natural, but he looks damn good trying. 

Harry spins around the pole once, turning away from her and shaking his sculpted rear, cheeks flexing through the nearly painted-on underwear. When he twists back, he rolls his body once and falls right down to his knees, gyrating his hips while his thighs spread open. Kathryn licks her lips and crosses her legs, leaning forward—Harry’s eyes have dilated, lashes halfway down, cheeks flushed and plush lips parted: she can tell he _wants her_ —

But then his movements slow to a stop, and he guiltily admits over the music, “That’s all I’ve got so far.”

Kathryn laughs. Not cruelly, just charmed. He smiles, palpably embarrassed, but Kathryn tells him, “You did wonderfully, Harry.”

He instantly perks up. “Yeah?”

“Yes. I’d give you a commendation if I could.”

His grin is so _sweet_. It’s almost enough to alter the mood, to turn her to sappy lovesickness, but she’s already too wet to forget her arousal. Harry’s breathing a little quick and clearly interested too. He climbs to his feet and turns for the stairs, giving her a pleasant view of his lean back and the hump of his round rear. 

He comes to her table but hesitates, always proper, letting her make the moves, even though up close, she can practically _smell_ his lust. He looks at her like he’s never seen a more beautiful woman, never served a better captain, never loved anyone more. 

She reaches out and takes his wrist, pulling him down into her lap to reward his best behaviour.


End file.
